A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) by Natasha Blackthorne

Author:Natasha Blackthorne [Blackthorne, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hearts Aflame Press
Published: 2016-04-22T05:00:00+00:00

“Don’t,” he cupped her face. “Don’t wear your cosmetics again.”

She shook her head and traced a finger over the bridge of her nose. “I can’t allow myself to be seen in public with these freckles. Cassandra tells me I wouldn’t get them if I would only stay out of the sun. But I love the feel of the sun on my face when I am in the country. I haven’t had enough time for them to fade since I spent those all those months working in the garden with Mama after Carrville died.”

A smile tweaked at his mouth. She saw him fight to subdue it. “Well, you can conceal your freckles in public of you must. But don’t wear your paint when it is just you and me alone.” He caressed her cheek. “You’re just a country girl at heart, aren’t you?”

How bemused he sounded. She shrugged. “I was raised in the country.”

“And forced to come to the city when Winterton…” He broke off abruptly. “I am by no means perfect, Miranda. But I am trying, hard, to be what you need. To give you what you need.”

“I know. That’s why I shared my real self with you today. It is something you wanted, and I wanted to give it to you.” Her voice was breaking for sadness had entered her heart.

“But what, Miranda?” There was no mistaking the irritability in his voice.

“Well, I do know how hard you try to give those you love what you think they need most.”

His expression hardened. “Not this again.”

He moved to retrieve his coat.

No, he would not run from her! She hurried to block his exit. “You will listen to me,” she said, her voice shaking with her daring.

He gave her as disdainful a look as he ever had.

And yes, it did frighten her. But she wouldn’t be intimidated. For Davey’s sake, she could not be. “You drink too much, too often,” she blurted, without any of the finesse that she’d been taught to use with men.

“Miranda—”

“You ignore your son. He needs you.”

“I am doing what I must for his future.”

“Are you?”

“What are you saying?”

“Are you running away?”

“That’s a damnable thing to say. I won’t stand for it.” He laid his hand on the doorknob, turning from her to go.

“Do you know why he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep without nightmares?”

He spun back to face her, eyes as dark as a thundercloud. “He’s grieving his mother.”

“No, not completely. A woman was feeding his fertile imagination with all manner of ideas.”

He stood there, with his arms crossed over his chest, his coat dropped to the floor. “He told you that?”

“And more.”

“He told you that when he wouldn’t tell me?”

“How could he tell you? You’re never around and those few times when you are, you are so into your cups that you all but ignore him.”

For a moment, it seemed his expression was about to crumple. But she must have only imagined it for in the next moment; it was as stony as before. “What did

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